


Where Do We Belong?

by frnkieroandthepatience



Category: Frank Iero - Fandom, My Chemical Romance, frnkiero andthe cellabration
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7579030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnkieroandthepatience/pseuds/frnkieroandthepatience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone has their roots, let it be to a town, city, state or even to a person.</p>
<p>With absent parents, no friends or family, Jezabela S. Padovano has no roots. Her family packs up and leaves whenever it seems like a good idea, but the moment Jezabela steps foot into rainy and boring New Jersey, her plans to stay hidden and tucked under the radar seem to die out after catching the eye of a boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I also posted this on Mibba! I'm in the process of transferring all of my works from there to here and updating on Mibba before I update on A03.

Ever since I was 9, I hated being the new kid. In the span of the ages 6 to 17, I’ve moved schools five times. This time I was dropped at Sacred Heart High School in an ugly ass uniform and a cross around my neck. I stood in the steps of the school, the large Doric columns reaching well over 20 feet looming over me made me feel insignificant. Behind me, my father honked the horn of the car, signaling me to go inside. Every time I started a new school and lingered too long to go in he would honk so he could speed away, usually back to the airport.

Looking behind me, I lifted my hand as a weak goodbye and pulled open the door only to be greeted by a nun. “Jezabela S. Padovano?” she asked in a smooth voice. “Please follow me.” She ushered me in and closed the door.

“My name is Sister Nina and at Sacred Heart, you will address everyone by sister, but we do have Father Dominique, Mother Louisa and Monsignor Lorenzo on staff but you will only see them for religious study classes. You’ll only see the Monsignor if you choose to attend our Sunday sermons here at the school, most of the students’ families do. And I see you have received your uniform, girls must wear a white button up blouse with the girls’ tie, uniform skirt, stockings, any shoe is acceptable, and because the buildings are quite cold, especially during the winter, any coat or jacket of any sort without distinguishable logos on them are acceptable. On the last day of each semester, you get to wear your own clothes, which is nice. Young ladies are not permitted to wear heavy, excess or noticeable makeup, wearing exaggerated eyeshadow, eyeliner and lipsticks will lead to automatic suspension. We allow students to do what they please with their hair as long as it doesn’t interfere with learning or other students and staff safety.”

“Hair can be dangerous?” I finally spoke. We stood in front of a wooden door marked ‘office’. Sister Mina looked back at me.

“There are a handful of students here who push the boundaries.” There was a lightness to her words, giving me hope that she was one of the nicer nuns. I remember being in Catholic school as a child at an institution called Saint Paul’s and whenever you misbehaved the nuns were to hit us against either or thighs or knuckles with rulers, resulting in scars that would forever litter my thighs.

“Bela, this is Sister Catherine, she’ll show you to your locker and your first class of the day, I’m sure you will find everything you need to succeed here at Sacred Heart in the students and staff.” Sister Nina handed me off to a tall woman with chestnut brown bangs coming from under her black veil making her appear sweet.

“Hello, Bela. I hope Sister Nina didn’t scare you too much.” S. Catherine's voice was something of a fairytale princess. She sounded how I would think Princess Aurora from Sleeping Beauty would sound. “Please follow me.”

The thumping of her heavy shoes comforted me as we made our way down several blank hallways until we reached the student wing. The corridors were lined with ugly green lockers, most of them had black locks on them while others were adorned with colourful locks, another way for us to express ourselves. My locker was, thankfully, shoved between locker 667 and a wall.

“I am very sorry that we had to give you the unlucky locker. I’m sure the kids will get a kick out of it though.” Sister Catherine laughed, continuing to tell me that I would need to get my own lock but tell only Sister Ann, the office receptionist, the code also. They apparently did random locker checks while we were in classes. After I collected the necessary books for the class was was supposed to be in now, S. Catherine lead me to the science wing seeing I was to be in was Biology.

“I looked at your transcripts but I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in Biology for the time being. Every student is required to take Theology and from what I saw from your transcripts you already took British Lit but again, that’s the highest level of English we offer but we do offer the current and higher levels of Latin you’re in.” With that I was pushed into a classroom.

I was faced with a class of 24 people and a teacher, all of them looking at me. The teacher was the first to speak, naturally. “Hello, dear, you must be Jezabela, correct?”

“Just Bela…” I tried to focus my eyes on the nun in front of me rather than the other teens clad in their ugly clothes.

“Okay, just Bela, I’m Sister Kate, you can take a seat next to Mr. Way, right now we are currently discussing local species of bats.” I looked around to see a boy in the back raising his hand indicating that he was the person I would be sitting next to. He was lanky and tall, even sitting down. His hair was a light sandy brown and he wore square glasses at the tip of his nose. This Mr. Way lad looked incredibly bored.

Once I sat in my seat I looked up only to see everyone staring at me, still.

“Ms. Padovano, do you know anything about the bats that reside here in New Jersey?”

“Yes…” I started, realizing that she was expecting me to talk about it. “Well, New Jersey is home to nine species of bats, six of which are year round while the other three are migratory. The six year round bats are the Little brown bat, Big brown bat, Northern long-eared bat, Indiana bat which is a federal and state endangered species, Eastern small-footed bat and the Eastern pipistrelle. They are active throughout late spring, summer and yearly fall but hibernate in caves during the winter. The Hoary bat, Red bat, and silver haired bat are part time residents.”

“Geez, what are you? A walking encyclopedia?” the boy in front of me said, making the whole class explode in laughter. Sister Kate smacked the ruler against her desk, pointing to the door, signaling for him to leave. I felt a familiar twinge of embarrassment wash over me. Being the smartest student in the room was like being the only kid in the room.I just hoped that this would be the shortest time I lived somewhere.

*

After Biology I had Theology, which wasn’t too bad; I was the last to get there but yet I still sat in front of the room with my head down silently taking notes. Thankfully no one talked to me in that class nor made fun of me when I got the right answer to the questions.

When lunch begun after Theology, I found a slightly secluded area, few other students were there, the rebels I assumed by their piercings, cigarettes and untucked shirts. I sat at a lunch table next to a small statue of the Virgin Mary, taking out a book from my bag and I started to read while I ate food I had bought when I was leaving the airport this morning. I felt a shadow loom over me minutes later.

Looking up, it was the boy from my Biology class, Mr. Way. “Hey, you’re Jezabela, right? I’m Mikey, your lab partner in Bio. Anyways, my friends and I were wondering if you wanted to sit with us?” he looked hopeful and shy with the way his hands were shoved to the bottoms of his pockets and how his shoulders were hunched over. He nodded over to his friends who were all staring at me.

“No.” I said.

“Oh…” Mikey trailed off, shifting awkwardly before turning and walking back to his friends. I was relieved when he did, but dread soon washed over me when I heard his voice again. “I tried to tell them, Jezabela, but my friends are kind of persistent.” Behind Mikey stood three boys.

The tallest of them waved at me first. “I’m Rob Hughes.”

“Matt Olsson.” The boy called Matt seemed shy as anyone could be but sweet none the less.

The last of them was short but he looked like he was still taller than me which wasn’t anything new. Anyone over the age of 11 was taller than me. “Hi! I’m Frank! You sit in front of me in Theology.”

“Everyone sits in front of me in Theology.” I was surprised they didn’t back off by how rude I was being. Frank took my rudeness as wanting to keep talking so he sat down, Rob, Matt and Mikey following suit.

“No I mean, you sit in front of me like the seat in front of me. But anyways, why are you eating food from Newark Liberty Airport?”

I looked down at the food wrappers with the silver logo of Newark Liberty Cafe’ and back up at Frank. “Because I was there this morning.”

“Why?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” I snapped making Frank giggle. His laugh was high pitched and girly and it made me feel a weird tingle in the bottom of my stomach. “And why do you care?”

“Well we haven’t had a new person in three years.” Rob explained, “And ever since the Monsignor told us about you, everyone’s been talkin’.” His voice was thick with a Jersey accent and I was envious that no matter where he went in the world, he’d always be from Jersey and he’d always have a part of his home with him.

“So, Jezabela, why were you at Newark Liberty?” Frank started up again.

I rolled my eyes and shut my book. “It’s Bela, and I flew into town this morning then came to school so I grabbed food, happy?” I crossed my leg over the other one while pushing my glasses up, staring at the boys, trying to radiate boredom.

“Why did you fly in this morning?” There he goes again, asking those stupid questions.

“Because that was the flight my parents booked…I don’t know.” I shrugged, resting my head on my palm.

Frank nodded, biting his lip while he swept his fringe out of his eyes. Frank’s hair was cut in a mohawk, the floppy part was black while the shaved parts were bleached white. “Where did you live before good ol’ Jersey?”

“L.A., London, Edinburgh, Le Havre, Stockholm and Oslo.” I said, not planning to disclose those were the times I moved schools not homes. I tried to not think about the times I’ve moved, moved away from potential friends and in the beginning, my childhood friends.

“Five times? I know where L.A. and London are, but what about the rest of them?” Frank cocked his head to the side, genuinely curious. He looked like a child almost.

“Edinburgh, Scotland, Le Havre, France, Stockholm, Sweden and Oslo, Norway.”

“Are you from one of those places? Where were you born?” I was about to explode because of all the questions, how personal we were getting and all of the boys’ eyes were boring into me, making me shake but I was saved by the obnoxious ringing of a bell, cuing me to my next class. I jumped up, stuffing my book in my bag and throwing my leftover food in the trash.

“What class do you have next, Bela?” Frank asked, running after me.

I glanced over at him, and sighed. I reached into my cardigan pocket and read it out loud. “APUSH, British Lit., then Latin.”

“What are your last two classes?” Frank asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

“British Lit and Latin.”

“You only have five classes?” I nodded, “Oh cool! Well, we have your last two classes together. But this is the APUSH room, I’ll see you soon, Bela!” He ran off to whatever class he had, making me sigh at his words. I didn’t want Frank to talk to me, I didn’t want to see him soon.

When I first began to move, whenever I wanted to make friends, it was hard. I didn’t know how to make proper friends seeing the friends I had growing up were friends since we were in dribs and diapers but then when I didn’t want friends, everyone would bombard me with questions about moving how living in Europe was and blah blah blah. I hated it and now, Frank and his little band of buddies wanted to talk to me, for what reason? I don’t know and I don’t plan on finding out.

As promised, I saw Frank in Lit and Latin.

“In all your other schools, did you take latin or other languages?” Frank asked me. In the Latin room there were five round tables with five chairs at each of them and I sat at the table closest to the windows. Frank decided it would be great to ask the girl who was already seated next to me to move, which she did much to my dismay.

I looked at him with an emotionless canvas on my face. “I took other languages. Why do you talk to me?”

He smiled. “Easy: you want a friend, I could tell. Whether you want your old friends back or you want friends in the near or even far future, you want friends and I have a feeling Bela that we’ll make great friends if you just let me.”

“I don’t want friends Frank. What’s the point? I don’t know how long I’m going to be in Jersey and wherever I go next could be thousands of miles from here. Then what? What happens to said friendship? I don’t do well with relationships and distance.” I kept my voice hard and as stable as possible.

His smiled never fell. “But you’re living now, Bela. Shouldn’t you live it to the fullest and and make the most memories in every place you live with the people who want to make memories with you?” All I could do was roll my eyes. Frank was smarter than he looked.


	2. "I wouldn't call him a friend..."

Critiella and Lotje Padovano were never home. My parents were replaced with a childhood friend of my father’s, Bitti. She was tall and slim, with flawless porcelain white skin and icy blue eyes. She was from Sweden and her whole family were like the dolls your granny might have in the living room. Growing up, she would always travel with us, which I never used to understood. It was only recently, about age 13, I understood she was my mother. Bitti did all the things my mother was supposed to do: do grocery shopping, take me shopping, hold me when I cry, make me food when I’m sick or comb and do my hair. She watched movies with me every Friday night so I wouldn't feel so friendless.

Two weeks of living in New Jersey was a change, it was a tough change, but Bitti held my hand the whole time. After the first week, every day I was bombarded with Frank and his friends’ questions and prodding at my life that I had a breakdown. I couldn’t remember the last time someone was that interested in what I had to say. My mother has barely said five words to me since we left L.A.

“So, Bela, what a cool name by the way, what do your parents do? When do I get to meet them?” Frank was at it again. The questions, oh the questions, sometimes they would rail off to personal taste like music and food and colours but then they’d go back to hurting me, reminding me that my parents left me here in this town with Bitti and have yet to call and tell me where they were.

“Bela is actually a very common name, the only thing cool about my name is the spelling, one “L” is not very common I guess because my name is Jezabela, Frank. That’s a cool name.” I pointed out. We were seated by the Virgin statue from my first day here. We were waiting for school to let out, I so dumbly agreed to sit with frank for Matt, Mikey and Rob.

“First of all, if Jezabela is such a cool name, why don’t you go by it? And secondly, stop avoiding my questions. I know you wanna be my friend, Bel.”

I rolled my eyes, pushing my glasses farther up my nose. “Because I’m not a Jezabela, and my mother named me, I hate the way my name sounds in her mouth. My father sells art and my mother...well let’s just say that she just sells cool stuff.” I grimaced, thinking about what my mother really did. I did think it was cool when I was a kid because I didn’t really understand what it all meat, but now I think it’s fucking hilarious that my mother sells high end sex toys that cost thousands of dollars.

“And?”

“And what?”

“And when do I get to meet my future in-laws?” I snapped my head over to look at Frank who had a stupid smirk on his face, making me want to punch it in.

“Never. They’re out of the country as of now.” Spotting the three boys tumbling out of the building, loosening their ties, I jumped up. “Well, see ya later Frank. I have to go.”

“Well, actually Bela, I kind of told my mom you were coming over today so she could meet you before work…”

“I haven’t told my...Bitti where I was going. I can’t just disappear on her, I’ve told her I was coming straight home after school.

“Where do you live? We could stop by and say a hello!” By now, the boys were in front of us, Mikey looking quite happy that it was Friday and to be away from the Nuns.

I had to think for a second, I wasn’t too keen on learning new addresses. “Uh...well do you know that pond with the cypress trees?” The boys looked fucking clueless. “The tall trees that are kind of pointy?”

“Oh! Yeah, that’s on Miles Road. I live on Canterbury Street which is only two blocks away! Wow, I didn’t even realize we lived that close. Come on, ‘ll drive you to your house and you can tell your Bitti that you’re going to my place!” I let Frank take ahold of my wrist and drag me to his car, the boys following engaging in a heated conversation on comics. Frank opened the passenger side door for me, waiting until I was buckled in to close the door for me. I hated to admit it, but Frank’s little antics were having an effect on me.

We rolled up to my house, the boys all whistling in awe at the house itself. No matter where I lived, with or without my parents (usually without), they made me live in the nicest house possible. I didn’t complain because my parents worked hard to get where they were and they could spend their money as they pleases.

“Come on, gotta get to Frank’s on time, yeah?” Frank and I got out of the car and made our way to the door. The rest of them satyed in the car, not feeling too active at the moment. Frank’s eyes were glued to the house, taking in every detail there was to the perfect rose bushes in front, the speakeasy and wrap around porch. Before I opened the door, I turned to him. “Do not, I mean, do not touch anything you can’t sit on. Okay?” He nodded before we walked in.

The first thing I smelled was kanelbullar, a Swedish coffee pastry that was incredibly popular. Bitti’s family had their own family recipe that was passed down from mother to daughter and I was secretly hoping that Bitti considered me her daughter.

“Sötnos? Is that you, little sweet?” I tried to ignore Frank’s giggle when Bitti called me little sweet and continued on o where her voice came from.

“Ja det är jag.” I called, letter her know it was me. “Jag tog hem…vänner.” I was very hesitant to call Frank my friend, but I couldn’t exactly tell Bitti I brought home a boy who wouldn’t leave me alone for 2 weeks home.

We reached the kitchen where Bitti stood, a blue bandana on her head, pushing her hair away from her face while she put the kanelbullar in a wicker basket.

“Hello, friend! A friend so soon, Bela. How nice.” Even though Bitti looked pleased that I brought home ‘friends’, I couldn’t shake the embarrassment I felt, feeling Frank’s eyes bore into the back of my head. I also felt embarrassment I felt back in L.A. or having a nanny and two, for having a nanny with a funny accent. I luckily learned how to cover mine up with an ‘American Accent’, letting it slip only at home.

“Yes, I just wanted to let you know, B, that I am going to Frank’s” I pointed to him, “house to meet his mother. They live not too far, so I’ll be home soon.”

Frank walked towards her from behind me, “It’s nice to meet you Bitti! I’m Frank Iero, I live two blocks away from here.” Bitti shook his hand, looking at me like he was the most perfect boy on the planet.

“Oh, how good and such manners, you have Frank. Bring this to her!” With that, no questions asked much to my dismay, she shoved the wicker basket in my arms and took my bag from me, guiding us to the door. “Have much fun, Bela.”

“She seems nice, Bel.” I didn’t look at Frank, but his voice seemed sincere. All I did was nod and get into his tiny car, placing the basket on my lap. No one said anything as we drove less than two minutes to the Iero house. It was tiny and cute, a white house with blue trim. I was jealous.

The second I stepped into the Iero residence, I felt at ease. It smelled like every other restaurant in Italy. It was lovely. One thing, however, I didn’t expect to see was two more boys in the living room, who were clad in black jeans and band shirts. One of them had black hair that was so long, it looked like it was dripping off of his head while the other had ashy brown curls that were puffed up in a fro of sorts.

“Bela, this is Gerard, Mikey’s older brother and Ray Toro, they graduated last year and go to college in the city.” Frank introduced us. Instead of shaking their hands I nodded at them, holding the basket in both of my hands flush against my chest. I could tell that Mikey and Gerard were brothers by their eyes and noses, but both Ray and Gerard looked quite nice even with Gerard’s rough exterior.

Rob, Mikey and Matt all trailed into the living room, throwing their bags down and began conversing while Frank tugged me by the arm towards the kitchen where I head pots and pans banging. Frank and I weren’t even dating, let alone friends, yet I felt so nervous to meet his mom. Why? I had no clue.

“Frankie, is that you I hear?” The woman’s voice flows in from the kitchen, soft and sweet like Frank’s, only more feminine.

“Yea, ma. I brought someone home to meet you…”


	3. "You are officially the coolest person I've ver met."

Meeting Linda, Frank’s mom wasn’t too bad besides Frank telling her we were going to get married and have kids. I left his house with Linda convinced we were dating but I didn’t act on my need to correct her and tell her I barely tolerated her son let alone would ever consider dating him, I was leaving Jersey sooner or later anyways.

But today was late Sunday morning, and Bitti was out at church while I lazed at home shuffling through an old shoe box filled with photos. When I turned 13, my father gave me some old film camera on our trip to Greece because he forgot it was my birthday He told me to go have fun and shoved a box full of film in my face. I spent that summer taking pictures of the water, skies, people, things, food I saw and loved. Every time we moved or traveled, I took my camera with me. I loved looking back at the scenery and daydreaming about how my life could have been different if I had stayed.

Feeling inspired from flipping through pictures for a half hour, I threw on some clothes, a hoodie included because of the heavy clouds outside, and dug up my camera, filling a small over the shoulder bag with undeveloped film and ran down the stairs. Before I left, I grabbed my keys and wrote a note to Bitti telling her I’d be back.

It felt nice to walk around my new home. Moments like these were the ones I took away from some place I have to leave. I could feel that jersey had something to offer, not interest like busy cities or natural beauty Mother Nature has to offer, but a quaint kind of beauty. One you had to search for to get. At first glance, nothing was beautiful about New Jersey; there was trash littering the gutters and graffiti, and on the nightly news last night a dead body was found at the park on the other side of town. Beauty in death? Maybe, maybe not.

I mostly stuck with neighborhood streets, taking pictures of the different colored houses and designs or the plants people had in front. I found myself smiling and enjoying my own company but everything good has to come to an end. It was just my luck that I rounded the corner of a street and face to face with Frank and his friends.

“Bela? What are you doing in this part of town?” Frank had a funny look on his face like he was amused but also confused. One side of his face was scrunched up.

“I was just walking. I guess I didn’t realize how far away from home I was.” I said. Both of my hands were gripping my camera and I hoped that if I kept it still, Frank wouldn’t notice and wouldn’t ask me to take pictures of him. We kind of just stared at each other, while his friends stared at me. I took Frank in, noticing he was wearing a short sleeved band shirt and I could barely make out a tattoo that wrapped around his bicep.

“Uh...wanna hang out with us? We’re going to just drive around for a while...if you want, I mean you don’t have to...come...with us I mean.” Frank stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck. While he talked he gestured to his little black car I assumed would be the mode of transport.

I had two choices: keep on walking and keep on trying to hate Frank or I could go with him and his friends, let them become my friends and be happy.

I, surprisingly, chose the one I was least inclined to do. “I’d love to hang out.” I smiled a bit when Frank’s jaw slacked and his friends shifted uncomfortably.

“C-cool! Well, let’s go!” Frank exclaimed, opening the passenger side door for me while Gerard, Mikey and Ray all crammed into the back. After Frank started the car, he fiddled with the radio before Radiohead to play softly. I recognized the song, Talk Show Host, my favorite.

When the lyrics started playing, I sang along softly. “I want to, I want to be someone else or I'll explode Floating upon the surface for The birds, the birds, the birds…” I watched the New Jersey trees float by, and the grey clouds ahead were getting darker.

“You listen to Radiohead?” Frank asked softly. He kept his eyes on the road. IN the background his friends were talking about something I couldn’t understand. I never could understand boy talk.

“Yeah. I have a lot of time on my hands and there are way more music shops in the towns I’ve been in than one might think and I usually buy vinyls based off of how cool the album art is, subjective I know, but that’s how people base their likes and dislikes anyways, is it not?”

“First off, you buy vinyls? That’s fucking amazing and second, of course art and music is subjective. When you hear something on the radio that you like, of course you aren’t going to change the station, you’re going to keep listening in hopes that the host will give you a name and artist. What else do you like?” He briefly glanced over at me.

“Belle & Sebastian, Sonic Youth, The Runaways, Bikini Kill, Sleater-Kinney, Bjork and I’m really into Hole and Nirvana.” I listed off some of my top bands, knowing my music collection is far too long to list.

“Geez, Bela. I think you are officially one of the coolest people I’ve ever met.” I couldn’t help but smile and turn my attention back to the window. Before I knew it, we were pulling up to water. On the other side you could see buildings, some with lights on because of how dark it was getting. It was beautiful seeing the water crash against itself softly under the pale light that was streaming through the clouds.

We all piled out of the car. I reached my arms over my head, feeling my shoulders pop.

“My pop used to take me up here as a kid. Now we come out here just to hang out or think. It’s nice to have a place for yourself, you know?” Frank walked up on the right side of me, both of us taking in the scene quietly. I could hear Gerard laughing behind us as Ray attempting to get on the roof of Frank’s car.

I pulled the lense cap off, stuffing in my pocket and pulling the camera up to my eye. I snapped a few pictures before turning the camera to face Frank. I got about two pictures of his face and one of the band on his arm before he noticed and laughed.

“No, Bel!” He held up his hand and tried to look away. “Ugh, I hate getting my picture taken. I always look so horrible.”

“No, you don’t Frank.” I could feel that he didn’t really want to talk about it, maybe he just didn’t want to talk about it with me. “What does your tattoo say? Aren’t you like 17?”

“Loyalty, Respect, Honesty but I also have a jack-o-lantern on my back. I am 17, but my parents don’t really care too much. I was actually thinking about piercing my nose and lip...What about your parents? What do your parents think about tattoos and piercings?”

“I think you should do it. As for my parents, they don’t care. I could get a tattoo on my face or a nose ring and they would think I look cool. They think I should feel free to express myself and that no one owns you or your body. For the longest time, my mom would say how the human body is a canvas.”

“You should get your nose pierced with me!” I turned to look at him. He was crazy!

“No, no, no. I could never!” I shook my head, fiddling with my camera instead.

“Yes, Bel. You could! Come on, Bela, take a risk with me. And you’re already taking a risk by hanging out with me and being here right now, right? Let’s continue to take risks!” he took me by my shoulders and shook me softly. I looked in Frank’s eyes before I sighed.

“Fine.” Frank started laughing and jumping up and down, a vice grip still on my shoulders.

“Let’s go! Come on guys, we’re going to Black Rose!” Frank took my hand and practically dragged me to the car, opening the door and shoving me in. I laughed as I watched him run around to the front as Mikey, Gerard and Ray calmly climbed in.

“What are you getting this time, Frankie?” Gerard spoke up.

“Bela and I are getting our noses pierced! I might get my lip, too. We’ll see.”

I was nervous the entire time we drive to the tattoo parlor and I felt myself shaking. I wasn’t scared of needles, I just had never gotten a piercing before, besides when I had my ears pierced but I was one I can’t remember that. But I guess Frank was right, I need to take risks. I thought back to when I first met him, how he told me I was living now and I should make the most out of it. I just hope that I wasn’t making a mistake by letting him in.


	4. "I'll hold your hand."

I walked out of the tattoo parlor a half hour later with a two hoops in my nose and Frank had one too, but an additional one in his lip. While the two of us went in, Mikey and Ray took Gerard to a comic shop next door because apparently needles made Gerard queasy and vomity.

When we had gone in, there was a man sitting behind a counter reading some magazine who looked up when the bell dinged.

“Frankie! I had a feeling you’d be poppin’ in sometime soon. What you here for today, bud?” He smiled widely at us.

“Hey Mike. I’m here for a nose and lip piercing and my friend here, Bela, is also gettin her nose pierced.” Mike was tall and bald but had a long grey beard like Gandalf. He had tattoos trailing up and down his arms, even some sprinkling up her neck and face.

“Awesome, follow me then, kids. Aimee will be doing your piercings, okay?” Frank nodded, grabbing my hand and tugging me along. We were put in a white room separate from the rest of the parlor that was white but had a tattoo chair and art along the walls. Frank gestured to the chair and I hopped on, making Frank laugh at my dangling feet.

“Shut up. You’re not much taller.” He shrugged, giggling as I looked around, admiring the work. I always loved and respected tattoo artists because I, for one, couldn’t draw for shit.

“How nervous are you, Bel?”

“Nervous as hell.” I simply stated. I didn’t know how else to convey nervousness and the shaking in my bones. My right foot was shaking so bad I thought my boot was going to fall off.

“Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand.” He leaned against the chair, extremely close to me, and winked. I just shook my head and looked at the door. In came a woman, a bit older than us but not by much, with a bunch of things in her hands. Her blue hair was so bright I was kind of in shock. I wondered how white her hair had to be to get it that blue. White like Frank’s?

“Hey, Frank, welcome back.” She dumped her supplies on a little metal table and lined them up before slipping on some gloves. “You’re Bela, yeah? Have you ever had a piercing or tattoo before?” I shook my head. “Okay, well I’ll take good care of you, don’t you worry. First, which side do you want?”

“Uh, let’s do the left.” Aimee scooted her chair closer to me so we were face to face. In her hand she held a marker which she used to make a dot on my nose and asked me if it was in a good place. I nodded, holding out my hand for Frank to take. I squeezed his hand watching Aimee present me with two small boxes. Inside of one there were little diamond studs and in the other there was a pile of big silver hoops.

“Do you want a stud or hoop?”

“Hoop, please.” She nodded, getting cleaning alcohol on a q-tip and rubbed the outside and inside of my nostril making my face pinch up.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” She and Frank laughed at my expression; it was not comfortable having a q-tip shoved up your nose. “Okay, so I want you to take a deep breath and breathe out for me on the count of three.” I closed my eyes, holding onto Frank for dear life feeling the coldness of the needle on my skin.

I sucked in air, “1...2...3...” I felt the needle go through my nose, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It was over before I could open my eyes. “The next part, I  
M going to be putting the hoop on the end of the needle and pulling it through and this part will hurt the most, okay?”

And Aimee was right. As she tugged the hoop towards her to twist it shut, a single big, fat tear rolled down my cheek. I was glad I decided to not wear make up today or else it would have been coming off. Even though I was in pain and the q-tip Aimee had been pressing on my nose was bloody, I felt good, like I had just gotten off a roller coaster.

When she was finished, she and Frank smiled at me. “How was that?”

I smiled at both of them. “Can we do my other side?” They laughed and Aimee agreed, but I asked to go after Frank got his shit done. It was the same process and Frank was giddy the whole time. He got his nose opposite of mine and his lip ring was on the opposite side of his nose. I thought he looked so cute with them in, something I didn’t think I’d ever say. I thought a boy was cute. I thought Frank was cute.

Of course, like most teens, I wasn’t very sure about my sexuality mostly because I never explored, not even with boys. I was still a little Catholic virgin and didn’t have any plans to change that when I first flew into Jersey but now that my Ice Queen exterior was melting, maybe I could feel and hold attraction after all.

After I got my other nostril pierced, I went up front to pay for all of the piercings. “Hey! Shouldn’t I be paying for all of this?” Frank asked.

“Why? Because you’re a man? Pft, no way, besides you were so gracious to take me here I might as well repay you.” I handed Mike the right amount of money and dragged Frank out after leaving Aimee and generous tip.

“You shouldn’t carry around so much money, Bel, especially in this part of Jersey.”

“Well if I don’t carry it around, I won’t be able to spend it all.” I shrugged, slipping into the front seat again.  
I stayed silent as Frank drove me home, I was stuck in my head thinking about Bitti and what she would say about my new jewelry. I wondered if she was going to tell my parents the next time she spoke to them. They always called, once a month, to check up on me and my grades at school but they had yet to do so, so I expected one in the following week. When I was a kid, I always looked forward to their calls, hoping they’d want to speak to me or at least make time to, but they never stayed on the phone longer than 5-10 minutes.

I only got to speak to them once on the phone before, for seven whole minutes because they missed my birthday, I had turned 12 so my dad promised to take me somewhere for my 13, and he did, but he didn’t spend it with me. He was too busy trying to make a deal then when he got it he took the gallery owners out for a fancy dinner while I sulked in my hotel room. That year, all I got was the camera and a kiss.

“Bela? Bela.” Frank was calling me, and I assumed he had been for while seeing the boys were giggling in the back. “We’re here.” he was smiling softly at me, like he knew I was thinking of them.

“Oh, cool. Thank you for today.” I smiled and slipped out of the car and up to my house, seeing Bitti’s car in the driveway. I took off my shoes and placed them by the other ones that stood by the door, walking across the cod tile to the kitchen. “Hi, Bitti.”

She turned around with a smile on her face, then her eyes landed on my nose. “Jezabela! What did you do? My Lord!” She rushed towards me, her hands up.

“I pierced my nose! Do you like it?”

“Like? Yes!” Her face broke out into her million dollar smile, “You look very grown up, like little rock star, yes?”

We giggled about my new piercings for a little while before she went back to cooking. It was the beginning of October and that always meant that Bitti made hot dishes for meals. Tonight, I assumed by the ingredients she assembled, was cheesy potato soup.

There’s this video tape of me and my parents before we left Norway, of all of us playing in the fallen leaves and laughing. My mother was actually smiling and it looked like she was enjoying herself. Of course she was still dressed up in her clean cut, designer clothes and pearl necklace, but she had a dazzling smile plastered on her face like she wanted to be with me. And my father, clad in clean slacks and a heavy coat, slicked back hair was gazing at my mom. If I could only stay 4 forever.


	5. "We belong dead."

“You know, Bela, my birthday is on the 31st and I’d really like it if you came to my party.” Frank and I were making our way to Latin when he asked/told me about his birthday party. I was trying my hardest to keep my head down because everyone was staring at me. I never wanted to draw attention to myself but apparently when you hang out with Frank and get piercings, you’re the talk of the cathedral. It was like these kids went to church, school and hope and thumped their bibles all day. Change wasn’t the hottest item of the season.

“Do you really expect me to believe that your birthday is on Halloween? That’s two days away. And what makes you think I don’t already have plans? I heard the city gets wild on Halloween.” I never actually heard that before, but Frank doesn’t know that.

“Bela, I’m the only friends you’ve made so far, no offence, so I highly doubt you have plans, again no offence. And I can show you my birth certificate. On October the 31st, Linda Iero gave birth to a little bundle of joy, me, Frank A. Iero Jr.”

“You’re named after your dad? That’s cute.” I mumbled, sliding into my seat.

“Bels!” Frank shouted, “Stop hiding your face, you look good! I mean, hell, more than good you’re the prettiest girl in the whole state!”

I finally looked up. “Bels? You never called me that before…” I had a sly smile on my face and I could see the wheels in Frank’s head turning. “And did you say I look good?”

Frank couched and pulled out his notebook before sitting, “You know what I love? Latin verbs! So interesting, yeah?” Frank insisted we focused on Latin, actually doing his work for once. We were halfway through the self-taught lesson when Frank cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you ever believe me when I tell you that you look pretty or good with something?”

I didn’t bother to look up because I knew I’d start crying. “Because, I know it’s your opinion. Like music and art, pretty and good is subjective to a personalized taste in style and aesthetics. My personal aesthetics don’t match up with what I look like. Every time I look in the mirror, I fight to urge to cry. You think I’m pretty, I’m flattered when you say it, but I want to be pretty to me I want to learn how to look at myself and see what you see. I know with how smart I am, I should be able to score any boy I see or desire but then I think about my face, and my thighs and then I realize I can’t have any boy I want because they won’t want me.”

“Don’t say that, Bel...That’s not true.” I felt guilty at how sad he sounded. But, I had to remind myself, being pretty is subjective and who really cares about boy’s opinions? Like I had said, I wanted to feel pretty for me, myself, not some dumb floosy boy.

“Frank, can we not talk about it? You’re just going to get upset and I don’t want that, so let’s just do Latin and be happy, okay?” I looked at him, he only nodded turning back to is work without another word. The puppy dog face was killing me, but what else was there to say?

* * *

The boys had managed to convince me to go to the party, only after they repeated ‘why?’ over and over and over and over until I caved out of annoyance. And of course when I got home, I had no idea what I wanted to be until I looked at my collection of old horror movies and saw ‘The Bride of Frankenstein’ and I figured I’d do an unplanned duo with Frank, assuming he’d go as Frankenstein’s monster.

His birthday came far too quick for my liking, and I had to tell Frank to fuck off every time he asked what my costume was. He had revealed that he was going to be Frankenstein, but I wanted to leave mine a surprise. I spent all morning teasing my hair up into the Bride’s hair style, getting white hair spray to make the streaks on the sides and I spent way too long on my makeup and stitches. The actual clothes were quite easy, I draped white sheets off of my body and Bitti sewed them in certain places so it wouldn’t fall off.

By the time I was finished and had made my way down the street with his present in hand, slowly for the dramatics, I could see and hear the music that poured out of Frank’s house along with neon green lights that were flashing. Frank even had fog rolling out of the house.

As soon as I stepped through the door, I was overwhelmed with the amount of people who were there. I recognized a few people from school, most in half ass costumes and most girls in tight leather and high heels I wish I was confident enough to wear. I could have been Harley Quinn. I don’t think anyone recognize me, or maybe they just didn’t care. I maneuvered through sweaty bodies to the kitchen where it was quieter thanks to the door connecting the two areas where I saw Gerard dressed up as Dracula, Mikey in a scarecrow costume hitting on some girl and Matt as a lumberjack.

“Hey Bela!” Gerard waved me over and I smiled. Walking to him, I waved at him.

“Nice costume.” I commented.

“Thank you, I must say you look good as well, Bela. Trying to put the moves on the local monster, are we?” He winked. Gerard was leaning on the counter behind him with a red cup on one hand. He didn’t look much different than he did every other time I’ve seen him. He had his black hair slicked back and wore a black button up and black slacks under his cape, his face was still as pale white as ever.

“No!” I scoffed. “I’m just doing as he asked: dress up. And I like when people have duo costumes! It’s cool! As long as it’s not that stupid Thing 1 and Thing 2 bullshit.” I tried to reason.

“Duo? You mean couples costumes, Bel. Frank is the monster and you show up as the monster’s bride. Hasn’t he told his mom you’re getting married? Are you sure you don’t have a crush on him.”

“Yes, he has. And I don’t get crushes.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say because it was true. I has showed up as his fucking bride. I just hoped he didn’t quote anything, it’ll just feed Gerard’s crazy ideas. Before Gerard could retaliate, Frank popped up.

“It’s a perfect night for mystery and horror,” I turned around. “The air itself is filled with monsters.” Frank was smirking and painted green. Of course, he wasn’t tall enough to be like Frankenstein's’ monster, but with his makeup and clothes he looked the part just as well.

Frank offered me his hand, which I foolishly took, and tugged me to his chest. He pressed his hand on my lower back making our bodies mold together while his other hand held my jaw. It felt like I couldn’t breathe. “We belong dead.” He leaned in, his warm breath cascading over my cheeks and down my neck. He smiled at me before placing a soft kiss on the tip of my nose.

“That lipstick looks good on you, Bels.” he whispered. I smiled tightly and tugged myself out of his embrace, fully aware that Gerard was staring at us, amusement swimming in his eyes. “Nice costume, too. Is this why you were so secretive? Well, good surprise!” he was talking normal now, in his loud Frank voice.

“I, um, brought you your present.” I spoke quickly, holding up the black gift bag.

“What! Bels, you didn’t have to get me anything, you being here is a gift in itself!” Gerard choked on his drink, excusing himself through a fit of laughter Frank didn’t notice.

I rolled my eyes, “Whatever, Frank. Do you want it for not?” He nodded vigorously like a child. He grabbed my hands and pulled me to the backyard where a bonfire sat crackling. I had almost forgotten it was a full moon, too.

“Come and sit.” He sat himself on the floor, crossing his legs and looked up at me. I placed the gift bag on the floor and tucked my legs under my butt so I was still facing Frank. “Can I open it now?” I smiled and nodded.

Frank peered into the bag, looked at me and back into the bag. His face was stretched out in the biggest grin I’ve seen on him to date. He began pulling his gift out. First was ‘Paradoxia: A Predator’s Diary’ by Lydia Lunch, ‘Their Eyes Are Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston, ‘The Bell jar’ by Sylvia Plath, and ‘Babel by Patti Smith. At the bottom of the bag, folded neatly, was a black Frankenstein shirt.

“They’re all my favorite books. Some people say they’re apart of the punk essentials reading list, but that’s not why I think you should read them. I think that Lydia Lunch was the lead singer of Teenage Jesus and the Jerks and does spoken word. I heard she’s a very scary woman because she’s a clear voice of feminism. Paradoxia is kind of, well really, dirty and gross but is amazing beyond all of it. And I would like for you to notice how all of these books are written by female authors, simply because like every other industry, literature is dominated by males and I think these need to be read.”

Frank was quiet for a moment, his eyes resting on the books he placed side by side on the ground in front of us. “These are great, Bels. I’ll definitely start reading these, not because I want to learn more about feminism alone but because theses mean a lot to you, I can tell.”

“Make sure you wear your new shirt when you do. The Monster wants to know about feminism, as well.” I joked.

Do you know those moments where you could feel that something was going to happen? Good or bad, you weren’t sure of it, but you knew it was going to happen This was one of those moments. I knew Frank was going to kiss me, yet I did nothing to stop it. Why did he kiss me? That’s the only thing I could think of as I watched Frank shift to his knees and gently pull my face towards his. Frank kept kissing me, pushing his face against mine as if he was asking why I wasn’t kissing back.

I sat there with Frank kissing me for a few moments while I stayed still as a board, looking past his shoulder into a the shadows.


	6. "And the first time?"

“Why aren’t you kissing me back?” Frank’s voice was stiff and hard, like he was trying not to cry, “Do you not like me, Jezabela...I thought you liked me, too…” I wasn’t looking at him as he talked to me, I was looking over his shoulder. I placed my hand on his thigh to try to get him to be quiet.

“Frank,” I whispered, “there is someone watching us…” Frank looked at me for a second before nodding.

“You want a beer?” He asked, I knew it was just to get a look at whomever was behind us. I nodded, watching Frank get up and turn around, glancing at the man in the bushes before scurrying to the other side of the yard and hurried back. “Come on, Bels.” I helped him gather his books before we ran into the house again. Frank grabbed my wrist and dragged me upstairs to his room.

It wasn’t what I expected his room to be like: it was much cleaner. But I did expect how much stuff he owned. I had a feeling Frank was one of those closet clean freaks and his room showed. He had stacks of books on the floor next to his bed because of the bookshelf stuffed to the brim with literature. I sat on his bed as Frank turned on his desk lamp and stacked the books up.

“Have you ever seen him before?” He asked slowly, sitting down next to me. He grabbed a hold of my hands, squeezing slightly. I could feel the nerves radiating off of him.

“Yeah, a few times. The last time was outside the tattoo place we went to. On the other side of the comic book shop is that sleazy smoke shop, he was outside smoking a cigarette when we left the shop but before that, when I was walking that day, before I ran into you guys, I walked past a convenience store as he was getting into his car. I thought it was really creepy that he stopped and watched me walk until I ran down a smaller street.”

“And the first time?”

I paused. I felt embarrassed for not making the connection myself until now, “He drove past the school…” I started slowly. “It was my first day, that morning I was taking too long to go inside and my dad honked. I remember looking back at him and waved then I looked past the car, just for a second and this guy was cruising past on the street. I forgot that even happened.”

“Jeez, Jezabela, you never remembered some creep practically stalking you since you got here? It’s been like two months!” He yelled at me. I flinched back, tilting my head down so I didn’t have to look at him. Frank has never yelled at me, never raised his voice, I’d never even seen him upset.

“I don’t know what to say, Frank.” We stayed quiet for a moment, Frank tugging away his hands, running one through his hair. “I should go.” I stood up but before I could take a step, Frank’s hands were planted on my waist.

“Not yet, Bela.” He tugged me backwards so I was sitting on his lap. I could feel him breathing next to my ear. I could feel the rise and fall of his chest that was pressed against my back as he breathed and I could feel his thighs under mine. “We still need to talk about that kiss…”

“What about it?” My voice was heavy and wavy, why was I suddenly nervous?

“If that guy wasn’t watching us, would you have kissed me? Kissed me back? Do you feel the same way as I feel about you?” As he talked, his arms twisted around my waist, squeezing me closer.

“Of course I like you, Frank. You’re my friend.” God, I’m so stupid.

“No, Bela, you know what I mean. Are you going to make me say it and embarrass myself? Spell it out for you?” Instead of answering my hands were fiddling with fabric that bunched up at my hips. “I. Like. You. I have a crush on you Bela, I have since the first time I saw you. Don’t you remember that day? You looked so cute and so mad in your uniform, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. That’s why I made Mikey go talk to you.”

“Of course I remember.”

“Do you not like me?” he asked again.

“Frank…” I sighed. This was much harder than I thought it would be. “It’s not that I don’t like you, I can’t like you. You know I’m going to move away eventually and then what? What happens to all that like between us? Does it disappear, will you give that like over to another person, someone who won’t leave you?”

“Why the fuck are you so stuck in the future? I feel like every time I get you to open up and do something fun and exciting, you close backup, Bela and it’s not fair. I’m trying to give you my love but you don’t want it, won’t accept it, whatever your excuse is, it’s hurting me. I just…” He sighed. “I don’t know..”

I tore myself off of Frank’s lap and walked towards the door. Without turning to face him I spoke, “Happy Birthday, Frank. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you what you wanted. I’ll see you later, okay?”

* * *

I didn’t tell Bitti why I came home earlier than expected, I just ran up the stairs and stripped of my costume before turning on the shower head to scalding hot water. I used to hate taking hot baths or showers but now it felt nice.

I stepped under the water, sitting down and curling up. I let my eyes close so I could focus on the feeling of the water loosing my hair of hairspray and bobby pins. My mind kept replaying what happened in Frank’s bedroom. I thought of how I could feel the music through the floorboards and when Frank had gotten frustrated, I remember him digging his fingers in my waist and I thought of how the tree outside his window would tap in the glass, sending chills down my spine.

Through all that thinking and swimming though memories of tonight, I began to cry. I hated that I let someone get so close, even though we weren't best friend close, this was the coset anyone has ever gotten to me and I am terrified. This is why I never wanted to talk to Frank in the first place, he was going to get hurt.


	7. "Please don't dry. Whatever it is, it's not worth it."

Monday morning was awkward. Frank had, understandably, told Mikey what had happened which lead to Mikey telling his brother and the rest of their friends why Frank was so sad and detached and I was now seen as the friend who did something wrong and can’t be talked to for a while. I wasn’t used to these rules of friendship and the real world, how to make other people happy when I wasn’t even capable of making myself happy. For the first time since I moved to Jersey, I got what I wanted. I sat alone at lunch and to make matters worse, my parents were coming to town. Tomorrow.

Bitti had told me the morning after the party, yesterday, ”Sweet, your mummy and da will be here tomorrow morning, but they spend day in New York City then come to spend night with us, okay?”

No, not okay. I didn’t know how I’d explain to them the holes in my face or what to say to them about school. Do I tell them about Frank? Do I leave him out of this? Would they care if I made friends? These were the people who dumped me in random cities while they go off and spend time with each other, drinking fine wines, eating wonderful foods and being husband and wife while I go the majority of my life getting love from a nanny. No hugs, no kisses from mom and dad.

I don’t think it was a good idea for Bitti to let me go to school after telling me my parents were coming. After first period, I spent all of Theology in the girl’s bathroom in the cathedral crying my eyes out and hyperventilating. I knew I was safe for the 75 minutes our classes ran for but the minute the lunch bell rang, I had to suck it up and go outside.

As I pushed the door open, I tugged the sleeves of my cardigan over my knuckles, rubbing my nose with it as I passed Frank and his friends. I felt self-conscious feeling their eyes follow me to the Virgin Mary. I sat with my chin tucked into my chest, keeping my breathing shallow so I could stop panicking.

“Hey! Aren’t you Bela Padovano?” Looking up I was met with a busty brunette with a huge smile and gapped teeth. “I’m Chantal Claret and I was wondering if you wanted to go to the the Sanctuary this Saturday? It’s this kind of gothy-punk club at night but by day, the Sanctuary is an art gallery. I noticed you’ve been in town for a while, but I’ve never seen you there and you seem fun!” Chantal scribbled something in a flyer before pushing it towards me, “You seem upset so I’ll leave you alone now, but I wrote my name and number on this so you’ll get in free if you decide to come! Hope to see you there!” With one last smile, Chantal bounced away.

I watched her go inside school, my eyes trailing back to Frank’s table. The way Frank was sitting made his back face me but he has turned his torso so he was looking at me. We looked at each other for a moment, but one of the boys threw a paper ball at him, causing him to turn around.

I took a deep breath, tilting my head back before letting it out. One hand reached to tug the ends of my hair out of frustration. Before I moved to Jersey when we were in London, my hair was just above the underside of my breast but was now grazing my waist. Bitti even made a comment a few days ago that I completely brushed off that I was starting to look like my mother when she went to Catholic school, St. Benedict's.

I saw a picture of my mother, around 17 or 18, once outside St. Benedict's when I was packing up our house in Norway before we moved for the first time and I had tucked it away so I could have it. She looked so shy and beautiful. My mother had clear skin, long curly and unruly hair that my hair resembled. The shot included her whole body and a large door in the background. My mother had her hands held behind her back and her chin tucked slightly. Her ugly uniform looked a bit like mine.

She looked the same. Taller though, standing at 5’9 without her heels. My mother’s face was always static when she was with me, never smiled really, never cried, never furrowed her brows because it would make her age easy. Her adult wardrobe was filled with tightly fitter blouses and pencil skirts, tight ballroom gowns with long trains, silk and chiffon, blood red lipstick and her high heels. No matter how tight or transparent the fabric, she was still the classiest woman in the world.

When I was little I would play in her wardrobe, stroking the jersey and suede hoping that when I got older I’d be just like her. I was such a mummy’s girl when I was a child, I never wanted to leave her side which is why it was so crushing for me when she left me all those times, it was like every time she got on a plane without me another part of my heart was gone. I didn’t know who I was after growing up without my mom.

My dad wasn’t much different, he loved me so much, called me his little princess and brought me to his galleries and let me open art with him. He even encouraged me to be an artist beyond giving me cameras and film, he bought me paints and canvases and when we would vacation in Spain and my parents took me to art galleries, he’d give me a notebook and pencil and would tell me to draw all of my favorite paintings.

I wish I would have had them for the past 11 years.

I was lost in my thoughts until the bell rang, summoning me to APUSH. I stood and shoved Chantal’s flyer in my bag before I rushed to class before anyone got up from their tables, ensuring I got to my seat and didn’t have to really talk to people in the halls. I easily found my seat, taking my time to take my books and pens out, arranging them neatly on my desk with shaking hands. I just wanted this day to be over with.

* * *  
I managed to make it through English and Latin without breaking down and Frank managed to make it through without talking or looking at me. Until the bell rang. I gathered up the things, planning to jet out of the door before anyone else understood that the bell had rung when Frank grabbed my arm and pulled me closer to his body.

“Please don’t cry, whatever it is,” he whispered lowly “it’s not worth it, okay, Bels?” Shrugging him off of me, I scurried off. Before leaving school I stuffed my books into my locker, grabbing my bag from it and sulking out of school. I told Bitti I would walk home from school, to give me time to clear my head and figure out what to even say to my parents when they got here.

Even though the walk was only 5 minutes away from school, probably because I was only wearing a cardigan over a short sleeved school shirt, it felt like forever especially with the weather turning cold and sour making me ever so grateful when I stepped through the threshold of my home, completely missing the black town car with the blacked out windows in the driveway.

“Hey Bitti, I’m home! You here?” I yelled into the house, tugging off my cardigan. I could hear low voices murmuring before Bitti spoke up.

“Come in the kitchen, but put your things away first.”

“Okay...I’ll be there in a minute.” I rushed up stairs and threw my bag on the floor and kicked my shoes off. I kept my uniform on but walked to my vanity and studied my appearance. I looked tired but acceptable. Before I walked out of my bedroom I grabbed a scrunchie and threw my hair up into a sloppy ponytail.

Running down the stairs I turned into the kitchen and was met with my parents.


	8. "We Came back for you."

“Come sit down, Jezabela. Let me take a good look at you.” My father sounded and looked the same. Same slicked back hair and nicely tailored suit. He still wore his St. Benedict’s pendant over his tie, a beautiful contrast of the pink pearls, sterling silver chain and pendant against the charcoal grey tie and black dress shirt. He looked like he was going to a funeral. So did my mother.

Quickly walking to the table, I took a seat to the left of Bitti, my mother directly in front of me. She smiled softly at me, hands clasping my father’s hands which frightened me the most about his situation and her eyes wandering on my face, as if she was memorizing how I looked. She should, I suppose. They could be leaving again and I wouldn’t know how long they’d be gone for. Sometimes I’d forget how they looked if I didn’t have photographs.

“Hi mamma, pappa. How are you?” They key was to be polite, start off on a good foot and leave off on a better foot, all smiles and kisses before they venture off.

“Oh, Jezabela…” Her voice broke as she said my name, her face falling and contorting into one of pain.

“Mormor Sylvi...she,” My father sighed, one hand reaching up to rub his forehead. “She died, my love, yesterday.”

I couldn’t believe what they were telling me. I haven’t seen Mormor since I was 13, she came to visit us and see what kind of life her daughter lived. I hadn’t been able to spend much time with her because I had school and I did feel bad when she left, and now I was being told that she was dead. It was like all of the air was being sucked away.

“Pardon? How?” I didn’t really want to know, but what else would I say? I felt the tears trying to push through, but I kept face as well as I could.

“Mormor had...cancer. We had gone to Italy for a showing or two then went back up to Oslo to see her and she was just so sick...she didn’t want anyone to know, she didn’t want us to worry. We’ve been with her, until she...we came back for you.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean came back for me?” The only time they’re said that to me was when we were going to move. I didn’t want to move now not when I’m on bad terms with Frank, I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye.

“For the funeral. We’re not moving you back, love, just seeing family then you’ll be coming back. I know how much you loved Mormor and how much we all miss home, but work lies elsewhere. We leave tonight so I want you to go upstairs and pack up warm clothes and whatever else you desire to bring.”

“How long will we be staying?”

My father paused, looking over at my mother. “About two weeks or so. Mormor’s funeral is in two days. Don’t worry, though, we talked things over with your school and they have been quite forgiving of our unexpected arrival. Please go get ready.”

With that, they nodded me off. I nearly forgotten how prim and formal my parents were. That was the most emotion I’ve seen them display. Maybe it was their upbringing, maybe it was lack of emotions or their jobs either way I wished they were normal would give me hug or something.

Stripping of my uniform, I pulled over a strappy black dress and comfortable combat boots, kicking the ugly outfit aside. I dragged my white suitcase from under my bed and onto it, zipping the bag open. Into it, I began stuffing black slacks and chunky sweaters, tank tops and thick socks and of course bras and underwear. Folded neatly on top of all of it, was a dress Mormor had gotten me. It was black and fitting. It was all black and white.

After an overwhelmingly quiet dinner to make up for the amount of emotion my parents displayed, we left. My parents had gotten us a red-eye plane ride to Norway, which I didn’t mind too much. A good part of my childhood was spent on red-eye planes, but leaving in the middle of the night after spending the whole afternoon crying my eyes out meant I couldn't go to Frank’s house before I left to tell him I wasn’t leaving forever. The car ride to JFK was long, longer than it normally took to get from Jersey to New York, despite the empty roads. No one spoke, no glances at each other with small sad smiles. Bitti, my mother and I all stared out of our windows at the rain hitting and approaching city lights.

* * *  
Before walking out of the airport, my mother tugged at my arm.

“Put this on, honning.” From her carryon, my mother produced a thick grey cable knit sweater with oddly placed fringe. Fringe was her weakness, though she rarely wore it. I took it, barely realizing that I was still wearing the thin dress I put on back in Jersey. Back when I was told my grandmother was dead. It felt like a lifetime ago but really, it was less than a day ago.

I nodded in thanks, dropped my bag on the floor and slipped on the sweater. I had forgotten that this time of the year in Norway brought on cold air and clouds overhead. As we stepped out of the airport, I looked up. The moon was bright and shining through thick clouds, illuminating the mountains and streets beautifully. Welcome home, I thought to myself. No matter where I moved, who I met, where I went to school, Norway will always be home. As expected, there was a car waiting for us. Sleek and black.

“We’ll be staying in Mormor’s house, she left it to us in her will.” My father spoke up, sliding into the driver’s seat. I shivered at the thought of staying in her house. That’s where she died, lived out her sick days, at least I wasn’t going to sleep in her room. My grandmother lived in a modern styled house in the middle of nowhere. It used to creep me out because I thought that it is the perfect setting for a horror movie, isolated location, big house where there are way too many places for you to hide in.


	9. "Love is a reciprocal torture."

Bitti and I flew into Jersey from Oslo together. From the airport we drove the car my parents had driven in two weeks ago back home. We didn’t talk to one another, I was too entangled in my thoughts, thinking about what’s going to happen when I got back to school. I wasn’t going to go the next two days, it would be pointless because after we had Thursday and Friday off for Thanksgiving. Bitti and I would spend Thanksgiving like any other day for we didn’t consider ourselves American/we didn’t like this particular holiday and I never cared for American holidays, anyways. We exited the car, pulling out bags from the back and hurried inside for warmth.

“I’m going to put on fire and make food, okay? Go rest up.” Bitti shooed me upstairs to the coldness and isolation of my room. Pushing open the door, I was greeted with the unopened boxes that have begun to collect dust and cold bed sheets. Even though we had lived here for quite some time, I still hadn’t unpacked completely. Flinging my bag to the corner, I sat on my bed, pulling my shoes of, leaving my thick socks on and feel backwards. I ran my hands up and down my arms. I crawled under the sheets, twisting and turning until I found myself comfortable enough. The past two weeks for me have been…interesting.

 _Going back to Norway_...was a lot. The moment we got to Mormor’s house, we were greeted by family members. Mormor’s twin sister, Margo, was there along with her daughters, Anja and Lisbet, and their children. Anja had one little girl who was four by the name of Maiken and Lisbet had Mari, a seven year old and seventeen year old Anton. I remembered Anton from when I was younger, he was my favorite cousin to play with and we went on vacation together when we were eleven.

When we walked into the living room, dragging in luggage, my eyes went to Margo first. She was the opposite of Mormor Sylvi. Mormor used to always be in her get up, manicured nails painted red with matching red lipstick on. She also always had her hair pinned up and in a nice dress. Margo was dressed in slacks and a black blouse, curly hair wild and framing her face and unpolished hands clutching a handkerchief. Anja, Lisbet, Anton, Mari and Maiken were all sitting on couches and the floor, Maiken staring at the fire that someone has made up in the fireplace.

“Oh, Jezabela...You’re so big now! How old is she, Ciritella?” Lisbet stood up and walked to us, hugging my parents then Bitti before getting a hold of my shoulders to look at me while my parents went to greet everyone else. “What is that in your nose?”

I tried to step back, feeling uncomfortable with the closeness of Lisbet. I touched my hand to my nose, feeling the little diamond studs I had put in place of the hoops.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. “I’m 17.” I managed to wiggle my way from Lisbet and over to Margo. She had been watching me from the couch, fiddling with her hands. “Hi”

“I know you!” She exclaimed. From what I understood from what I was told on the plane, Margo was suffering from dementia and she was surprised to see Mormor’s picture in the obituary section of the newspaper. She apparently freaked out that a woman looks exactly like her died. “You’re all over the house.”

By that, she meant the dozens of photographs of me that were hung up. I didn’t know that my parents sent out things like holiday cards with pictures of us in them or sent out my school pictures to grandparents and Mormor was a frequent receiver. I didn’t notice until my mom sent me up the stairs to go sleep. I passed by dozens of photos, of me, my mother, my father, whole family pictures, of Mormor and Margo when they were little as I climbed the creaking stairs.

The bedroom I was set up in was minimal. It had a wooden framed bed, dresser, desk and seat, arm chair and lamp all made out of dark cherry wood with a white fur rug at the foot of the bed. The sheets were fresh and black, folded in the center of the bed with two pillows and cases alongside. Mormor loved black more than I did but didn’t let it show. She only had darkness in certain rooms of the house, like hers, her bathroom and this guest room, which is why no one but me wanted to sleep here.

The second I put my bag in a corner and ripped off my shoes, I made up the bed, fluffing out the pillows and smoothing out the sheets at the same time trying to warm them up. Once satisfied, I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a simple grey shirt and matching shirts and thick socks, pulling them on in replace of my dress and sweater, leaving my hair up in the scrunchie. I turned off the lamp, admiring the scenery of Mormor’s property from the large windows as I rubbed my eyes.

I climbed into the bed, tugging the blankets under my chin and squeezed my eyes shut. That night I dreamed of Jersey, I was sitting by the water with Frank. Radiohead was playing in the background.

 _The next day_...I sent getting picked on by my family for my nose piercings despite us being there for my dead grandmother. They thought I looked funny and Western, like the floozy Americans we see in the television. I was too busy defending myself to even think about Frank and what was probably going on in Jersey which was nice because I didn’t want to think about how Frank and the boys were probably glad I was gone, but then again that was my upsetness talking and they probably didn’t even know I was gone yet. Oslo was six hours ahead of Jersey City meaning the boys were supposed to be asleep. Though, I doubt that Frank was asleep. I knew he was having sleeping problems, but to what extent I didn’t know.

“Are you going to tell me about those nose piercings, Jezabela?” My mother sat in the seat next to me, hands folded neatly together. We weren't really doing anything, Lisbet and Anja were on the phone finalizing the funeral plans and asking when flowers were arriving to the church tomorrow.

“I got them a few weeks ago...with a friend.” I mumbled, peering at the plate in front of me. My father was in the kitchen with Anton preparing breakfast for everyone. Breakfast was a sacred thing for us, something we do as a family. As a kid, I would always envy kids who got sugary industrial cereals but after living in the United States, I was glad to be sitting down for a proper meal.

“Friend? That’s good. Tell em about this friend.” She coaxed, shifting so she was comfortable. I had to think about what to say, not because I didn’t want to tell her about Frank, but because I hadn’t spoke my mother tongue in months, I had to really think about what words to use.

“Well, he’s short.” I started. I looked to my right quickly, seeing Bitti biting back a smile, “And funny...he has a laugh like a girl’s and likes to read and listen to music.” I didn’t really know what else my mom wanted to hear but that’s all I really felt like telling her. It wasn’t like she was going to meet Frank.

“Are they nice to you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Are you happy in the United States?”

“It’s okay. Nothing like Norway. I miss speaking Norse, living there is making me sound like I don’t know my language.” She nodded. I wasn’t surprised at the silence she et hang between us. Ciritella wasn’t big on conversation with anyone. When she told me Mormor died and this conversation together made the most I’ve ever hear her talk. We both watched dad and Anton start placing food in the table. Assorted jams, honey, breads, cheese, soft boiled eggs, muesli, grapefruits, veg and cold cuts. My dad carried in a pot of slow cooked sprouted _grøt_ with cream and jam to put on top. The smell of cinnamon and cardamom hit my nostrils as soon as the pot was set on the table.

I watched him bring in a platter of smoked salmon as Anton finished his job with placing coffee and juices on the table, taking his seat across from me. Anton was clearly a member of my family, brown skin that has planed from living in a snow town, brown eyes that were light enough where you could see the iris and was kind of spooky but also resembled lightly brewed coffee, thick yet shapely brows with a thin button nose. We haven’t talked since we were eleven and things were weird now. It was the type of weird that only exists in families where you obviously haven’t caught up but are too afraid to considering the circumstances even though you both wanted to because you’re family and that’s what you do, you talk.

As soon as my dad, Anja and Lisbet sat down, we begun to serve ourselves. I began with grøt, pouring a generous amount of cream, grabbing lingonberry jam and honey, adding in almonds and fresh berries. I also took some separate fruit and a cup of juice. The adults, including Bitti collected bits of crisp bread with salmon on top with radishes to garnish, veg and cheeses.

I didn’t speak throughout breakfast, just watched mom talk to Anton and Bitti help feed Maiken and Mari. I didn’t feel the need to put myself in the conversations, like Margo who sat at the head of the table, staring in her bowl of muesli and cream. She claimed she was starving this morning, pouring herself more than enough food to prove her point but so far she had only pushed the food back and forth.

“Mama,” Lisbet placed her hand on Margo’s forearm, shaking it a bit. “Are you okay?”

“I should have been there for Sylvi…” she mumbled, tapping the spoon against the porcelain bowl. “She died alone.”

“No, mama, she didn’t. Ciritella and Lotje were with her and now we’re going to honor her, okay?”

“Lotje?” Margo looked up and around at all of our faces until she landed on my father who had lifted his hand to wave at her. It was hard seeing Margo like this so soon after Mormor died. We knew that people in our family didn’t last very long with dementia or Alzheimer's. “Oh! Lotje. I know him, he is a fine man, yes, he takes care of his family.” Like a blink of an eye, she was back to normal, a delicate smile on her face, sipping her coffee and munching on her food.

No one said anything to her about Margo after that, not bothering to remind her that people were going to be here after the actual ceremony.

 _The day of Mormor’s funeral_...was the weirdest day.

We all woke up around the same time, Anja naturally being the one up first. She had woken up me up while she was busy waking her mother and gotten her showered and dressed, letting Lisbet and my mom wake everyone else accordingly. I waited until Margo was finished in the bathroom so I could take my own shower. The guest bathroom was clean, open and white with ceiling to floor windows that looked over the forest. My shower was fast, I focused on scrubbing off the jet lag from my body and washing my hair.

After I was finished, I let my hair dry into nice curls, pulling on my dress for the day. It was a thick black long-sleeved turtleneck dress with a lot of fabric, scrunching up at the sleeves and waist. I pulled my hair up in a loose bun at the crown of my head, smoothing out the edges. I kept my makeup the same like I always do it with winged eyeliner, mascara and lots of blush. I loved the look of beyond rosy cheeks because it really brought out my freckles and make me look fresh. At least, to me. I sat on the bed, staring out of the window, lost in thought. I can’t remember what I was thinking about when my mom walked in, dressed beautifully.

“Jezabela, I wanted to give you something.” She closed the door behind her, in her hand a deep green velvet box. She sat next to be, her body turned so we were looking at each other. “This was Mormor’s...you know she went to St. Benedict’s before me and I don’t know if you remembered, but along with her lipstick,” she laughed, “she wore this all the time, usually under her clothes but she wore it.” Opening the box, my mother pulled out the St. Benedict’s pendant. It was sterling silver, shiny like it was still new. The chain had pearls with a golden hue to them to match the golden pieces of metal lining the actual emblem. “She left it to you in her will.”

Leaning over to me, my mom unfastened to put it softly around my neck. It was long enough to dangle down my chest right below my collarbones. It was a beautiful contrast from the darkness of my clothes and somber mood.

Unexpectedly, she grabbed my hands that were rested on my lap. “I’m sorry, Jezabela. _Du betyr så mye for meg._ ” She began to tear up, her eyes never meeting mine but staying planted firm on the necklace. “I know I haven’t been a very good mother to you, but I miss you everyday and I am sorry that I never let you know.”

“Why now?” I whisper, feeling my own tears brimming in my eyes. After all of these years, this is exactly what I wanted but I didn’t know how to feel about it happening now.

“With Mormor gone...you and Lotje is all I have left. Yes, we have Lisbet and Anja...but I made you, me and da, we made you with all the love and care in the world but didn’t show that love easily these past few years and I’m sorry.”

Maybe it was the funeral or maybe it was just the overwhelming feeling of seeing each other again, but either way she pulled me into a hug and missed the side of my face. I couldn’t stop my arms from wrapping around her middle, breathing in her scent: Chanel No. 5 and berries. We sat in the embrace for a few minutes, only parting when we heard a soft knock on the door. Pushing it open was my dad, hair slicked back with a white handkerchief in his jacket pocket.

“Time to go, my girls.” We stood, walking to the door but before I could pass my dad stopped, me, taking me into his arms and kissing my forehead. “ _Jeg elsker deg_.”

After our sweet moment, we all walked down the stairs where Bitti stood adjusting her scarf. The three of them took their coats from the coat rack before the four of us piled into the rental car, taking off towards the cemetery. I watched silently as the town flew by us, pretty and dulling out in color with the harsh November air. We drove through the cemetery, past huge headstones and dead flowers on graves to the back where a small wooden church lay. Most churches in Norway were made from wood, kept dark in color and natural instead of putting finishing loss on them. It gave them a creepy and old look but this one was painted white with black trim and beautiful green stained glass windows.

There was a good amount of people that actually showed up. They all wore sad expressions, some already in tears. This was the one place we were allowed to show emotion and it was weird seeing all of these people, usually stone faced with cold demeanors, sobbing and patting their eyes. As a family, we decided to skip a memorial service and planned to go straight into the burial. Mormor said that when she died she didn’t want us crying over the loss of her life, but celebrate her accomplishments.

Everyone gathered around a cypress tree, tall and flowing back and forth in the wind, a priest standing tall and quiet. My family and I sat in the chairs set up next to the burial site, my mother on my left and Bitti on my right, everyone else sitting behind us. He started speaking some verse about love and death. I couldn’t find it in me to cry, not in front of strangers or on top of other people’s graves where others have cried before me. I kept my head down, eyes cast to the dirt dug from the grave and my hands were being held tightly by Bitti and my mom, so tightly that I couldn’t feel them anymore.

At one point, after the priest instructed everyone to bow their heads in prayer, giant tears came flowing out of my mother’s eyes. They rolled down her cheeks in silence, flowing one right after another. She didn’t make a sound but her lips were moving quickly in a prayer.

“ _Salige er dere når folk bebreide deg, forfølger dere, og si alt ondt mot dere feilaktig, for min skyld. Gled dere, og vær overmåte glade, for stor er den lønn i himmelen. For det er slik forfulgte de profetene før dere._

Dere er jordens salt, men hvis saltet har mistet sin smak, med hva det vil være saltet? Det er så godt for noe, men for å bli kastet ut og tråkket under føttene til menn. Du er verdens lys. En by som ligger på et fjell, kan ikke skjules. Heller ikke du tenner en lampe, og setter den under målekurven, men på et stativ; og det skinner til alle som er i huset. Selv så skal deres lys skinne for menneskene; så de kan se de gode gjerninger dere gjør og prise deres Far i himmelen. Amen.”

“Amen.” We spoke after him. My family and I stood, a young man who was standing behind the priest presented us with black German irises. One by one, we all stood in a line to place the flowers on Mormor’s white casket. Along with the flowers, we kissed the casket, sending further love to her. I moved passed my family, deciding to go last. When it got to my turn, I peered down seeing the flowers and tear droplets. I placed my flower on top of the growing pile, slipping a piece of paper that was hidden in my sleeve under them, kissing the cold wood, letting some tears squeeze past my eyes. They were black from my mascara.

I went back and stood in front of my parents again, grabbing ahold of Bitti’s hand once more. I felt my father bend down and speak into my ear. “What did you write on it?”

“ _i]Love is a reciprocal torture._ ” I whispered back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys couldn't tell, italics were flashbacks/Norwegian and this is the longest chapter yet! Took a long tim to write because of all the research I did.
> 
> grøt - porridge
> 
> Du betyr så mye for meg - You mean so much to me.
> 
> Jeg elsker deg - I love you.
> 
> The prayer: "Blessed are you when people reproach you, persecute you, and say all kinds of evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceedingly glad, for great is your reward in heaven. For that is how they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
> 
> You are the salt of the earth, but if the salt has lost its flavor, with what will it be salted? It is then good for nothing, but to be cast out and trodden under the feet of men. You are the light of the world. A city located on a hill can't be hidden. Neither do you light a lamp, and put it under a measuring basket, but on a stand; and it shines to all who are in the house. Even so, let your light shine before men; that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father who is in heaven."  
> Matthew 5:1-16
> 
> The love quote is by Marcel Proust.


	10. "Well you found me, sugar."

I didn’t realize I fell asleep until I was waking up with the heater system blowing loudly and the hallway light on. There was a strip of light coming from under my door, warm and yellow. I threw the blankets off of my body and I stumbled through my room but stopped when I stepped on a piece of paper. I blindly bent down, my arms waving in front of me so I wouldn’t hit my head on anything in my way to pick it up and one it was in my hand I found my way to the light switch. In my hands was a flyer for a club. Turning it over in my hands, I saw that there was a name and phone number. Chantal. I smiled slightly at the paper before deciding to slip some shoes on and grabbing my coat so I could run down the stairs and out the door.

The front of the flyer was directions to the club, a little map drawn on so it was easier to find for me than just names of streets I didn’t know. It wasn’t as cold as it was in Norway but I was still regretting not grabbing gloves and a scarf, too. I was only in a tank top with a thin, knitted jumper with dropped stitches over, jeans, socks, sneakers and a light coat on with my hair down and wild, flinging about in the wind. I tried to tuck my hair behind my ears but it was useless; the wind would pick it back up and make it dance. The walk to the Sanctuary wasn’t too bad and I got there in thirty minutes. The building itself was a tall and cylinder shaped building and looked abandoned on the outside, old and worn flyers covering the walls and blacked out windows. There was only one door and it was painted maroon and above it it said the name of the place painted in script lettering. The place next door was a pizza place with a neon sign above the door.

I pulled the Sanctuary door open only to walk into another room, like a foyer, that had black furry walls and hooks lining them. People’s coats were hanging up so I assumed that’s where you could leave them. I opted out of doing that and pushed back the heavy black curtain that lead to the Sanctuary itself. I had to walk down a long hallway, lined with Medieval and religious art, more on the gruesome side. I recognize the artists and it made me feel more comfortable being here, which was nice. I was doing this on a whim and I didn’t know why. The walls were painted a blood red color and the only light came from track lighting, commonly found in galleries. At the end of the corridor, there was a trefoil archway and another heavy curtain. Pulling it back, I walked into a circular room with a short and thick cement block in the middle of the room with a statue perched on it. The walls had various styles of art hanging on them with names of artists, sold and price tags next to to them.

From where I was standing, there were six other trefoil arches with curtains. I assumed they were corridors, too, and the one directly across from me had a red neon sign that said lounge and the one to the left of the lounge had a green sign that read bar. I walked around to the lounge and went into the corridor. This one had Baroque painting lining the walls but had two unmarked doors on either side of the hall halfway down. I kept walking, following the laughter and voices to an open room. One wall was covered in a red velvet fabric along with the ceiling that also held a black chandelier that held lights and candles while the other one to my right was a pink velvet wall with black print in it. The pink and black wall was mostly covered with a large, frameless mirror with a red velvet couch. All the furniture were made from the same blood red velvet. Across from the couch was a love seat and two arm chairs. The opposite side of the room were two more armchairs but tall in the back with an open room with tons of books and art and two other rooms I couldn’t see into.

Sitting on the love seat was Chantal, her legs draped over the side while she lay with her head on one hand. There were two guys and a blonde girl crammed on the couch and a man with a green and black mohawk in the chair closest to me.

“Jezabela?” Cantal sat up, her eyes going wide like she was surprised to see me.

“Um, hey. Chantal, right? I found this,” I pulled the flyer from my pocket, “and figured this is where I could find you…”

She smiled wide, exposing the gap in her teeth. “Well, you found me, sugar. Come here.” She patted the spot next to her and I smiled. Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and having it stay I plopped down next to her, smiling at her friends. “Jezabela-”

“Just Bela is fine…”

“Bela, this is Moyra,” she pointed to the blonde girl who was leaning on one of the boys, “and her boyfriend Jax and Dex, they’re brothers and Steve.” She pointed to the guy with the mohawk who smiled meekly while the other three waved nicely.

“Gonna forget about me?” A man dressed in black leather pants and silver necklaces with a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. He looked like Ville Valo’s and Eric Draven’s long lost brother. He had black makeup circling his eyes, making a beautiful and heavy contrast to his pale skin.

“Of course not! This is Olin Major, the founder of the Sanctuary.” I smiled and said hello to everyone, sitting back. Chantal turned to me and began to fill me in on what they were talking about which was Olin’s new exhibit he was going to put up and the fact he got some original Michael Hussar paintings to put up in one of the corridors. I was comfortable enough to take off my coat and accept a drink. I wasn’t sure how long we were there for, just talking but all I know is I had fun.


	11. "Where have you been?"

Chantal invited Bitti and I to her family’s house on Thanksgiving for dinner and to bring dessert. Her parents were from Romania and didn’t understand the makings of Thanksgiving like us. When I told Bitti, she lit up like a Christmas tree. She was in a bad funk after Mormor’s death and no matter how I tried to make her laugh, she wouldn't budge. It was like she was frozen in time, in the moment she stood at her grave watching as they lowered her body into the ground and flung dirt on it carelessly. 

The morning of, Bitti woke up early and put on her baking scarf loose over the curlers in her hair. I had woken up to the sound of her patting down the stairs happily, whispering a festive tune she used to sing as a girl. Trailed behind her, rubbing sleep from my eyes as she went straight to the coffee she had made before she put her hair up. I sipped on a cup of coffee while I watched her take out an old, worn piece of paper ripped from her father’s recipe book. She had decided to make her father’s Pepparkakor. It was the same recipe in Norway as in Sweden and it was Bitti’s favorite to make. It was a thin and harder than normal gingerbread and we cut them into shapes like trees and hearts. We liked to double or even triple the amount of spices we put in because it made it worthwhile and they tasted better with coffee and tea. Mormor loved them, too. We spent the morning in silence, enjoying the music Bitti put on and the beautiful fall of the outside. 

It wasn’t until last minute we forgotten something. It was hours later, when the Pepparkakor was out of the oven and in a pretty container then Bitti had forgotten she wanted to make Kakao, the Norwegian version of hot chocolate. Bitti had sent me out to get milk so we could make the hot chocolate when we got there so I hurriedly walked to the store before it closed in my best clothes, seeing it was a Holiday. 

My dress was black, of course and three layers. The first was a satin slip that cut off before my knees to make room for the second layer: a tulle piece that was fitted at the top and flared beyond my knees down to my shins and stopped. The bodice has lace detailing and lace sweed onto the forearms all the way up to the elbow along on the neck and covering the chest. The front of my ships had lace on it too, little black beads and sequins covering all of the laced parts. The third layer was merely another tulle skirt, tightly fitting and slightly longer than the first. Paired the dress with shiny, patent leather stilettos, black stockings and my grandmother’s necklace. I ran down the stairs, completely forgetting my jacket. I made it to the store in time to grab a half gallon of full fat milk, vanilla beans and to run face first onto Frank. 

“Bela?” He stared at me for a moment, his hands fallen to his sides and the items he was juggling in his arms were scattered on the floor between us. “Where-where have you [i]been[/i]?” He frantically asked, his hands now clutching my upper arms so hard his knuckles were turning white. “I went by your house and knocked for minutes but no one answered. I even went around back to look in the windows.”  
I sighed, peering around the corner so I wouldn’t have to look at him or his big hazel eyes. Looking back at him, I didn’t say anything, I just took him in. His lip wasn’t swollen like the last time I saw him, his silver lip ring sparkling under the gross lights. His hair was longer, too and it looked shiny and healthy, grazing his neck and the tops of his shoulders but he also wore a beanie to help protect him from the cold. He was wearing loose jeans, sneakers and a jumper under a heavy coat. 

“I went away for a while…”

“Obviously, Bela. But where? Why? One moment you were here and the next you were gone...I thought you moved away for good.” 

“I went to Norway. My parents came back for me because well, my uh...grandmother died.” I mumbled, looking between our bodies. Without saying anything, Frank pulled me into a bone crushing hug. 

“I’m sorry Bela.” he whispered in my ear. I stood frozen with my arms glued to my sides and eyes focusing on the food behind us. 

“I...I think I have to go, Frank but I’ll see you at school, okay?” Before I could tear myself say from Frank and get my thing that still lay on the floor, Frank swiftly kissed my cheek.   
[center]*[/center]  
We made it to the Claret’s house in time. They had prepared a non traditional Thanksgiving dinner of vegetable soup, baked pumpkin, and a potato soup, all things Chantal’s parents ate in Romania. They were overjoyed when we brought the cookies and made the kakao, saying this was better than celebrating an American holiday. We had an amazing dinner, Chantal's parents were sweet and spoke like Bitti in broken English, making Bitti feel more comfortable to talk to them and open up.


	12. "You're graduating early?"

Going back to school was tense. I wasn’t ready by any means and when I had expressed this to Bitti, she had given me a cuddle and suggested that I stayed home. Of course I thought about it but in the end, I threw my tangled hair into a bun, slapped on some makeup to make me look less of a zombie and dressed myself in my uniform. Bitti wasn’t at all surprised that I had made this choice and was ready downstairs with a small breakfast and drove me to school. I always felt that if I let Bitti drive me to my schools wherever we were, people would ask more questions like who was she and why is she driving me because Bitti and I look nothing alike, there was no way for us to be related by blood. My knees clashed together like silver spoons held with loose wrists from all the shaking. 

Bitti whispered a prayer for me before I got out of the car, keeping my head down as I entered through the large wooden door, down the cold hallway lined with silver lockers and prying eyes that belonged to whispering girls with razors for tongues who twirled pink gum with the fingers making it mix with their strawberry lip gloss sticky on their lips and shiny under unflattering lights. I tried to block out the buzzing of conversation around me and make it to my locker somewhat unnoticed. It worked until I had to go to class. I had forgotten over the weeks that Mikey was my lab partner and we had to do everything together from now until the end of December. The school was set up so we changed classes every semester go get the most out of what they offered in terms of education but this would be my last semester in pre-college schooling. Before I had left, I got notice that my credits from my previous school in L.A. had finally come in and I was so far ahead I was graduating early. I didn’t mention this to my parents. 

Walking into class, the teacher smiled at me, telling me it was good to see me again. I knew she was just being nice because half of these teachers let alone students didn’t even know I existed.

I noticed I was here before Mikey and I was grateful for that. I didn’t want to have to walk up to him and see the look on his face, maybe disappointment that I was back or worse, indifference towards me. I wasn’t sure how Frank’s friends felt about me, I didn’t even know if they knew I left without telling him. I wasn’t sure how these three weeks would pan out in terms of me and Frank. I hadn’t seen him since Thanksgiving when I ran into him and then ran away but I had a feeling that he would force me to talk if he could find me. 

When Mikey entered the classroom I was looking at the window. Winter in New Jersey wasn’t as special as winter in some other places but it was interesting. I heard the stool scraping across the floor and Mikey setting his textbook against the table. 

“You’re back.” He stated. There was no emotion behind his voice at all. Turning to look at him, we both pushed out glasses up at the same time making a small smile break on his face. He wasn’t as tough as he tried to be. 

“Yeah...I...went back home for a while. There was some family stuff I had to deal with and it wasn’t that great actually. I mean the food was great but...I kind of missed you guys.” I spilled out. Gerard and Mikey had these big beautiful eyes that were so welcoming you had to spill your every thought to them. “But don’t tell Frank I said that, okay?” I added quickly. 

“I won’t Bela. But, we missed you, too. The first day we realized you were gone, Frank took us all out of class to check on you. He was freaking out pretty bad.” Before I could respond, it was time to start our lab.   
*

“Are you going to be sitting with us during lunch?” MIkey asked as we packed up our things.

I shook my head. “I need to talk to the guidance counselor about early graduation and if the ceremony is mandatory.” 

“You’re graduating early?” I explained the situation to him quickly before we parted ways in the hall. I walked into Theology without anyone giving me a second glance. I got to sit in the back in silence so I could decide what I really wanted to do after this. I basically had three options: college, working, or travelling back to all the places I never really got to go to with my parents or maybe go back home and see my family. If I went to college, I didn’t know what I would study, probably photography because that’s all I was interested in but didn’t know what kind of career I could get with that degree. And travelling is not that fun when you go alone, it makes you feel empty and seeing my family wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be. 

When the bell rang for lunch, I stopped at my locker to stuff my books in it before going to the counselor’s office. Ms. Cassandra Jevon was the only non-Sister or religious person in the whole school. She was also young, in her 20’s and had cute brown hair that was cut to her shoulders with flimsy bangs. I only ever saw her dressed in pale dresses that were of modest length and weren’t too tight along with flat shoes. Even though she blended into the walls, she stuck out like a sore thumb alongside Frank. 

Knocking on the door, I heard her faintly yell for me to come in. Her office was unmarked and hidden off in the corner of the main building, easily missed if you blinked but the inside was very cozy. Instead of the chairs they had in the main office, there were two low armchairs and a low light lamp in the corner and one on the desk so she didn’t have to have the hideous over lights on. 

“Hello, Jezabela. It’s so nice to meet you.” She said. She was standing in the corner, flipping the electric tea kettle on. “You can sit if you like. Tea?” I nodded, smiling slightly at her. I took a seat in a chair, setting my bag close to me. As Ms. Jevon took two mugs out of the file cabinet the kettle was on, I took the opportunity to look closely at her little office. There were tons of books lined on her shelves, mostly about psychology and depression but there were some books about knitting and crafts. 

“I hope you like chai.” I nodded, taking the cup from her hands before she sat down at her desk. “So, Jezabela, early graduation. I looked over your records and transcripts, they are very impressive. I think with your language, mathematics and science scores along with your standardized testing levels, you qualify for every ivy league in the country. It looks like your parents invested a lot in your education which is great because, not most students have this much potential. You could go to any school in the world you wanted, Jezabela. Have any in mind?” Her smile was genuine, like she was proud of me which made me feel weird because she didn’t even know me. 

“Um,” I thought for a second, remembering how Frank once told me Gerard went to a college in New York. “I want to stay close to Jersey, I don’t want to move my um, guardian, to New York. We are starting to like it here...maybe in the city? I would like something to do with the arts or visual arts maybe?”

She nodded before turning to the bookshelf behind her to pull a thick one from the row, setting it on the desk. We sat quietly as she flipped through the book until she found what she needed. In New York, there is the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, Berkeley College, Columbia, Juilliard, The Academy of Art, Pratt and the School of Visual Arts. Those are your best bets for what you want to get into. I’ll write these down so you can think about your potions and I would hope by next week you’ll narrow this down to two or three that you are willing to apply to. I don’t want you to feel pressure from us to go into college immediately, but with you I think there is potential loss if you don’t put your talents to use right away, okay? And if you ever change your mind about location, let me know and I’ll give you more options.” I took the piece of pink stationery she had scribbled on and folded it into my pocket.


	13. "I don't know what that means but okay."

I wasn’t sure how I wanted to go about asking Frank for Gerard’s information without feeling weird like I was hitting on him. I just wanted to ask about which school he went to, why he choose that school and how much he liked it. So when I walked into Lit. class, I found an empty seat and waited patiently for Frank to arrive. I sat up straight and watched the door, eyeing the flood of kids rushing in in giggling clumps. Frank strolled in with snow on his jacket and a beanie on. His cheeks were flushed a pretty shade of red along with his lips that were shining. 

He looked around for a second before we caught eyes. I tried to give him a smile to make me seem more inviting and he took the bait. He strolled over to me, sitting in front of my desk and turning so he was facing me. 

“How are you Bels? I missed you.” He began lowly. “I heard you’re leaving early…” I nodded, leaning forward. 

“December 20th is my graduation day.”

“That’s so soon…”

I nodded, “I’m in the process of choosing colleges to go to. I think I want to go to the city, do some art. The school counselor gave me a list of good schools in the city.” I took out the paper and unfolded it before presenting it to Frank. He took it, looking over them with an impressed gleam in his eyes. 

“I knew you were smart Bels, but now I realize you’re a genius. Gerard just graduated from the School of Visual Arts you should talk to him about it. He was doing drawing classes and now he landed a good job with [i]Cartoon Network[/i]. We’re, um, hanging out this weekend, you should come over to my house. I think Gerard and Ray would like to see you again.” 

“Okay, I’ll ask Bitti if it’s alright.” I went to reach for my paper that was clutched in his hands making me have to graze mine against his to get it back. I could feel his eyes on my face but I kept mine on the desk below me. 

“I really did miss you Bels...it was hard knowing you were gone for two weeks. I couldn’t stop thinking about you every time I went into my room, you know I finished one of the books you gave me for my birthday and I wear the shirt you gave me to bed. Is that lame? I think about that kiss everytime I see that shirt or go into the backyard. It’s lame isn’t it?” He scoffed lightly. 

“It’s not lame. I’ve never had anyone tell me they missed me besides family. It’s nice to know you were thinking of me. You were on my mind a few times.” I told him truthfully. Even though my feelings about Frank were mixed and unclear for me, he was still on my mind and I wanted him in my life, strangely enough. We went through the rest of the lesson laughing and talking together. I helped him understand what we were reading and he helped me smile. 

After class ended, I watched him put on all of his warm clothes back on before nodding his head to the door. I followed him down the hall but instead of going to our next class, Frank lead me outside to the football field and behind some bleachers where he took out a pack of cigarettes. I leaned against the cold metal and looked at him with his red nose and blushing cheeks. I thought he looked cute as he cupped his hand around the lighter. His eyebrows scrunched up in concentration as he did so. When he got it to light, he took a long drag, smirking at me like he knew I thought he was cute. We stood there without talking and listened to the bell ringing, announcing that class had begun without us. 

“Would you kiss me even though I’m smoking?” He broke the silence between us. It was so abrupt like dropping glass on the floor. 

I looked at him for a moment, kind of shocked that he even asked that. Thinking, I couldn't see anything wrong with kissing him now besides that would be kissing Frank. While we were ditching class. In the middle of the cold. But, I still answered honestly. “Yes, I would kiss you.” 

Frank’s eyebrows shot up but then fell back down as his eyes darkened a little bit. Frank’s hand took ahold of his cigarette and brought it to his mouth so he could take a deep breath in, look at the end before flicking it to the side. He exhaled the smoke while taking a step towards me. His cold hands circled my face before leaning in. His lips pressed softly against mine and were cold, too. I could smell and taste the nicotine as he pressed our lips harder against each other. I felt his tongue lick my lips, making me gasp and giving Frank the opportunity to stick his tongue in my mouth. 

I had no idea what I was doing. 

But he didn’t care. Frank shifted so his body was tight against mine and my back was now against the metal railing I was leaning on and I let my arms wrap loosely around his waist. I tried my best to mimic the way he was kissing me but I just felt stupid prompting me to stop altogether. 

Pulling away, Frank wore the same expression he had on his birthday. “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know how to kiss, Frank.” 

“What are you talking about?” He laughed, “I like the way you kiss.”

“You’re the first person I’ve ever kissed.” 

He just shrugged. “That doesn’t matter. I think you’re a natural.” He smiled down at me and kissed me again but softer this time. “I’ve dreamt about this every night since my birthday, jeez, Bela, you give me blue balls.” He laughed again. 

“I don’t know what that means but okay.” This made him laugh even harder.


End file.
